- Drummer - Pianist - Composer
- l'ombre translation Spanish | French-Spanish Dictionary | Reverso
- Princeton University Library Catalog
Transmission hologram, wooden frame, easel and pigments on canvas x x cm, ed. In the wake of the post-modernism hybrids of the s, these two pieces question the formal and spatial nature of the holographic medium in relation to the great models of art, painting, sculpture and photography, but also to the Nude as an artistic genre. Reflection hologram on glass WLR and acrylic on wood 28 x 32 cm, ed.
Reflection hologram on glass WLR , wood, ink on paper and bottle 21 x 30 x 22 cm, ed. Contact Us Use the form on the right to contact us. Philippe Boissonnet.
- Holography - Light — Philippe Boissonnet.
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Info Email. Holography - Light. Return to Artworks. Understandably, the viewer never anticipates the blends, mixtures and challenges the viewing experience has to offer …. But viewer is subtly led to discover other dimensions of the work as well as of his or her own sensitivity.
Drummer - Pianist - Composer
Where the Sun Rises,. Skip to content Free download. Tournier had translated:. However, these strategies are not always implemented. This tendency to minimise translation does not necessarily detract from the original. This is not the case for non-translations of verbs of manner—a more serious matter in so far as the different levels of meaning of some English verbs are often lost and not replaced by compensatory strategies.
l'ombre translation Spanish | French-Spanish Dictionary | Reverso
True, English verbs of manner are more numerous than French ones, leaving a semantic vacuum filled in French by more general terms. When the personification of the world of nature and objects is grafted on to these English verbs of manner, translations show the result is unfortunately to evade the issue. Thus the study of how English phrasal verbs are translated into French highlights a micro-syntactical problem that in the course of a novel may well suppress networks of echoing meaning supported by rich, multi-faceted verbs, and flatten the impact of strangeness and surprise attached to bold metaphorical formulations.
The singular effect of solitude And of a languorous portrait, with its eyes Provocative as is its attitude, Dark loves would advertise —.
And guilty joys, with feasts of strange delight, Full of infernal kisses, omens certain To please the gloating angels of the Night Who swim behind each curtain. And yet to see her nimble strength, the risky Swerve of the rounded shoulder, and its rake, The tented haunch, the figure lithe and frisky, Flexed like an angry snake,. You'd know that she was young. Her soul affronted, Her senses stung with boredom — were they bayed By packs of wandering, lost desires, and hunted, And finally betrayed?
Princeton University Library Catalog
The vengeful man, whose lust you could not sate, In spite of much love nor quench his fire — Did he on your dead flesh then consummate His monstrous, last desire? Answer me, corpse impure! With fevered fist, Grim visage, did he raise you up on high, And, as your silver frosty teeth he kissed, Bid you his last goodbye? Far from inquiring magistrates that sneer, Far from this world of raillery and riot, Sleep peacefully, strange creature, on your bier, Of mystery and quiet. Your lover roams the world.
Your deathless shape Watches his sleep and hears each indrawn breath. No more than you can he ever escape From constancy till death! A warm room, sultry as a hothouse, where one fears The air is poisonous with death, Faded bouquets which, drooping in their crystal biers, Exhale their ultimate faint breath. A headless corpse pours forth a stream of vivid red Blood on damp pillows, and the white Linens absorb the bubbling flow into the bed Avidly as a meadow might.
Pale as a specter born of a black dream's despair, To strike our eyes and rivet them, The head, with its dense curly mane of somber hair, And its detail of gold and gem, Rests on a small commode, like a ranunculus, Comfortably; void of surmise, A glint, leaden and blank as dawn, soars, vacuous, From the stone orbs of upturned eyes. The naked torso on the bed in graceful ease Exhibits without scruple or shame Her secret parts and all the fatal splendencies Nature bestowed upon this frame. On her leg, a pink stocking with gold clocks remains, As it were, like a souvenir, The jeweled garter, like a secret eye, retains A glance sharp as a diamond spear.
That curious air of solitude and, with it, those Eyes gazing from a portrait near, As languid and provoking as the sitter's pose, Reveal what gloomy loves reigned here. Wraiths of strange feasts, of guilty joys, of recondite Demonic kisses passion moulds To fill the swarm of evil angels with delight, Still hover in the curtain's folds. She was still young! Did ennui gnaw her heart, exhaust Her senses, quench love's normal fires?
Did she grant welcome to the thirsty pack of lost Pleasures and devious desires? That vengeful lover whom your wealth of love could still Not sate, you living and robust, Did he use your inert complacent flesh to fill The extreme limits of his lust? O corpse defiled, with fevered hand in his crazed drouth Did he grasp your stiff tresses? Tell, Tell me, grim head, did he glue on your icy mouth The kisses of his last farewell? Far from a jeering world and courts where without cease Magistrates probe as lawyers rave, O most bizarre of beings, sleep ever at peace, at peace In your remote mysterious grave.
Whilst your mate roams the earth, your deathless form Keeps royal vigil over his sleeping breath, And surely, like yourself, he shall continue loyal And constant to you unto death. Flasks of expensive scent, embroideries, rich brocades, Taffeta sofas, satin chairs; Statues in marble, paintings; fragrance that pervades The empty, sumptuous gowns; warm airs.
And sweet, — yet sultry, damp, unhealthful to inhale: That sickening green-house atmosphere Dying bouquets in their glass coffins give — a stale Voluptuous chamber Lying here. A corpse without a head, whence flows in a bright stream, Making an ever broadening stain, The red and living blood, which the white pillows seem To lap up like a thirsty plain. Pale as those awful shapes that out of shadow stare, Chaining our helpless eyes to theirs, The head, with its great mass of rich and somber hair — The earrings still in the small ears —.
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Edit Cast Series cast summary: Franck Ferrand Edit Details Country: France. Language: French. Runtime: 90 min.
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